Hot Winter Nights (Made in Montana)

by Debbi Rawlins

  “Faith in you?” He shoved a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “We still have the Whispering Pines because of you. I’m real clear about that,” he said, when Clint shook his head. “I’ve always been a lousy businessman. I know my cattle, though. Just wish I’d had enough sense to let someone else handle the business end early on. Your mom’s smart about that sort of thing. I was young, newly married and had too much ego to get her involved.”

  Clint rubbed his jaw. Sounded familiar.

  “What’s that grin for? Your old man was young once.”

  “Weren’t we all?”

  Doug Landers snorted a laugh. “Hell, you’re still a pup. Smart as a whip, though, I’ll give you that. You knew everything about auctions and keeping the books well before you went off to college. And even the cattle... Don’t you tell your brother I said this, but you’ve always been a better cattleman than Nathan. He’s good with horses.”

  Clint chuckled. “Come on, Pop. Give me an early Christmas present. Let me tell him you said that. You can be there to see his face.”

  “Yeah, go ahead, start a war. Your mom would love that.” His smile faded as he looked solemnly at Clint. “What I’m getting to is this... I’m not accepting your answer. Not yet.” He held a hand up when Clint started to protest. “Obviously I’m not questioning your ability. But you were right to ask for time to think it over. And I believe you still have some thinking to do.”

  “I don’t understand what brought this on,” Clint said, his insides clenching. “But I’m telling you that I’m—” He leaned back, not sure if he felt ashamed or offended. “You think I’ve been neglecting my job—”

  “Hell, no. I told you to take time off, didn’t I? Anyway, we have good men living in that bunkhouse,” he said, jabbing a finger in that direction. “No reason you should be here 24/7. Not to mention you can handle the job with one arm tied behind your back. Your mom and I just want you to be sure. That’s all.”

  Swiftly losing his sense of humor, Clint sighed. “I’m telling you I’m sure. I want to run the Whispering Pines. A Landers has held the reins for over a hundred years.” Why had he said that? It had no bearing on anything. He was tired. Maybe his dad had mistaken weariness for uncertainty. “My decision has nothing to do with Seth acting out or Nathan having his own ranch to worry about. I’m telling you I’m ready.”

  “Good.” His dad stood, and Clint exhaled. “I expect you’ll still be ready in three weeks.”

  “Dad...”

  He walked around the desk and stopped at the door. “Do me a favor, son. Pick me up some of that tape next time you’re in town.”

  “I don’t know when that’ll be,” Clint lied, feeling like a defiant teenager. Idiot.

  “No rush.” His dad tried hiding a smile. “It can wait until you go shopping for that present.”

  * * *

  SOMETHING HAD HAPPENED on the set. Lila didn’t know the specifics, only that the problem was big enough that Erin could weasel out of their talk and force half the crew to take an early lunch. Which sucked so bad because the day was already crawling.

  Lila turned to go back inside the trailer when she thought she saw Clint’s truck. She didn’t think they needed him today, but he could be delivering horses. Straining to see around the corner, she nearly fell off the step.

  “Looking for someone?”

  The sound of his deep voice sent an army of goose bumps marching down her arms. She spun to face him, almost losing her balance, but he caught her by the waist.

  “Someone tall, dark and handsome, as a matter of fact.” She paused as he gave her the exaggerated eye roll that never failed to make her grin. “But you’ll do,” she added.

  “You’re in a good mood,” he said, releasing her. “Filming must be going well today.”

  “Oh, no, it’s a complete mess. They’re at a standstill.” She smiled at his puzzled expression. “I’m happy to see you,” she said, considering sneaking in a kiss. “God, you’re wearing your hat. Have I told you how much I love that Stetson? On you. Not the hat by itself.”

  Clint laughed.

  “Did you get your business taken care of last night?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted the Stetson and resettled it on his head, looking beyond her toward the set. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Did they call you to come today?”

  He shook his head. “I had something to pick up in town and figured I’d stop by. You eating lunch with Erin?”

  “We had plans to meet, but I doubt I’ll see her for a while,” she said, glancing toward the set. Baxter was headed their way. “Oh, great.” She quickly turned back to Clint, who looked equally thrilled to see the moron.

  Clint’s jaw was set, his gaze fixed. Neither of them spoke. She braced for impact.

  “What are you doing away from the set?” Baxter asked Clint. “They need you over there by the—” He waved a hand, clueless as usual. “Whatever they call it.”

  Clint’s straight face dissolved, and he let out a laugh.

  “They’re not using him today, Baxter,” Lila said, so sick of his obvious attempts to separate them. “Didn’t you read the call sheet?”

  His evil glower startled her, but she held firm and glared back.

  “Jason and I want something for lunch.” He challenged her with a dark look she’d never seen before.

  “Okay,” she said, shrugging. “You know where the craft service is set up.”

  “We’re sick of that shit. Make yourself useful, go pick something up at the diner.”

  She opened her mouth to remind him he was Jason’s gofer, not her. But she saw the anger in Clint’s face and reconsidered.

  Better not throw gas on the fire, she decided.

  Baxter frowned at her outstretched palm. “What?”

  “Money and the keys to your car.”

  Baxter scowled. “Don’t you have money?”

  “Nope.” She waited, wiggling her fingers. “Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

  He pulled some bills out of his pocket and passed them to her, while he dug for his keys.

  “You don’t need his car,” Clint said, pressing a hand to the small of her back. “I’ll drive you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Baxter didn’t like that at all. She tried not to let her glee show.

  “Wow, a hall pass I hadn’t expected,” she said as they started walking. “Nice.”

  Clint still looked as if he wanted to rearrange Baxter’s face. “What the hell is his problem?”

  She shrugged. “He’s jealous.” It was a short walk to his truck. She glanced back a couple times, hoping to see Erin. Lila had been ready to have that talk. Since that wasn’t possible at the moment, this wasn’t a bad way to spend the time.

  Although, she’d warned herself about relying too much on Clint.

  He turned onto Main Street, and she looked at the crumpled bills. “Awesome. There’s enough here for us to have lunch, too.”

  Clint chuckled. “How about I buy you lunch?”

  “Actually I’m not hungry. Where are we going?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Okay, the Food Mart.”

  Clint looked at her. “Have you had their ready-made sandwiches?”

  “They’re terrible. Jason will hate it.” She smiled at his confusion. “Jason would never tell Baxter to send me to get lunch. That’s part of Baxter’s job description.”

  He kept driving, a smile slowly curving his mouth. “You can look so angelic. But you really are a little devil, aren’t you?”

  “When it comes to Baxter? Oh, yeah.”

  The parking lot wasn’t crowded. Clint found a spot close to the front. As Lila slipped out, she caught a brief glimpse of herself in the side mirror and laughed.

 
; “What?” he asked, coming around to hold the door. He was unfailingly polite. And not just with her. He always held a door for any woman.

  “I forgot about this purple extension.” She lifted it away from her own hair. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “I’ve rearranged my expectations when it comes to you.”

  Lila waited for him to close the door. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  He surprised her by taking her hand. “Is this okay?” he asked, glancing at their entwined fingers as they walked toward the entrance.

  “It is with me.” She smiled so big her cheeks hurt. Her parents would adore Clint. She squeezed his hand tighter.

  He squeezed back. “Mom?”

  “What did you say?” Laughing, Lila glanced up at him.

  Clint wasn’t looking at her. He’d stopped and was staring at a short, middle-aged woman with sparkling hazel eyes and the same olive skin coloring as Clint. “What are you doing here?”

  The woman glanced from Clint to Lila and then at their joined hands. She smiled. “Shopping.”

  “Right.” Clint released Lila’s hand. “What’s wrong with Bill’s Food Town? Other than being thirty miles closer to home.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Mrs. Landers was studying Lila, but in a friendly way.

  “Lila Loveridge meet Meryl Landers, my nosy mother.”

  “Oh, hush,” Mrs. Landers said, sending him a reproving look.

  Grinning, Lila extended her hand. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “I confess to being a bit starstruck,” Mrs. Landers said as she accepted Lila’s handshake. “I usually do shop at the Food Town in Twin Creeks, but I was hoping to see someone famous.”

  “Oh, we don’t have any really big names. But I bet you’ve heard of Dash Rockwell and Penelope Lane.”

  “And you,” Mrs. Landers said. “My goodness, I can’t believe Clint has been keeping you a secret. You can’t be the hairstylist...”

  “Oh, brother,” Clint muttered. “Sorry, Mom, but Lila’s on a tight schedule. We need to hurry.”

  “Of course, I understand,” Mrs. Landers said, and kept staring like so many awestruck fans.

  But Lila didn’t mind. For once she was sorry to be a disappointment.

  “I know.” His mom beamed at them. “How about coming over for dinner? That way we can visit without rushing.”

  “Nope,” Clint said. “She works tonight.”

  Lila nodded. It was true. But Clint didn’t know that.

  “It doesn’t have to be tonight. What about this weekend?”

  “I’d love to,” Lila said at the same time Clint said, “No can do.”

  His mom ignored him and patted Lila’s hand. “I’m so looking forward to having you.”

  15

  “YOU NERVOUS?” CLINT squeezed her hand as they lurched over the icy road on their way to his family’s ranch.

  “No,” Lila said. “Yes. But no. Really no. Your mother was as sweet as could be. This is an amazing treat for me.” She smiled at him. “What about you? Are you nervous?”

  “Damn straight, I am.”

  She laughed. “Why?”

  “You don’t know my mom. She’s liable to make this into a big to-do. You’d think it’s Christmas come early.”

  “Wow, that’ll make the evening even better. Erin thinks I’m nuts around the holidays. I usually start decorating the day after Thanksgiving, and I don’t stop singing carols until after New Year’s.”

  “Are you sure that’s the only reason she thinks you’re nuts?”

  “Hey!” Lila let go of his hand so she could punch his arm. “You’re really asking for trouble, you know that?”

  “Yeah, well...” Clint took her hand in his again. “I knew I was in trouble the moment I met you.”

  “Huh.” She leaned back to look at him. “Should I ask?”

  He cleared his throat and muttered, “Probably not.”

  She sighed, grateful for the ease between them, memorizing the feel of his hand swallowing hers, the slight smile she could see half of, the warmth of the truck against the cold of the wind and the intermittent snow flurries.

  When it felt like too much, Lila looked in the small backseat at her bag of treats. Yesterday she’d received her mom’s care package filled with all the fixings for their traditional spiced Christmas tea along with some other goodies.

  Lila had been delighted at first, but then the truth behind the gesture had sunk in. Her mom had given up hope that Lila could make it home for Christmas. She had to stop thinking about that or she’d be a complete mess.

  To make herself feel better, she’d stayed up ungodly late making a big batch of her famous Rocky Road bark, using the microwave in the production trailer.

  “I probably should have brought wine,” she said.

  “Would you stop? When Mom heard you were bringing stuff for your family’s traditional tea, she was very excited. Have I mentioned she’s more nuts than you about the holidays?”

  “She couldn’t be.”

  “Oh, no? Take a look at the gate.”

  Lila had been so busy staring at Clint she hadn’t realized they’d reached the ranch. The gate was large enough for two semitrucks to pass when opened, and it looked like it was made from the pine trees that lined the roads and filled the forests. Hanging at the center was a breathtaking wreath, dotted with holly berries, dusted pinecones and a huge red velvet bow.

  “Oh, I think I’m going to fit right in,” she said with relief. “And you’re sure it’s just casual?”

  “Lila. You’re wearing a skirt, which by itself defies the word casual at our house. Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he said, eyeing her legs. “A lot.”

  Grinning, she bumped his shoulder. She hadn’t dressed up too much. To go with the pencil skirt she’d chosen a simple cream-colored blouse with a cardigan that was festive but wouldn’t be too hot in the kitchen. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail, just like she would have if she’d been at home.

  “Look, we don’t have to stay late. We can be back at the motel by ten if we don’t linger over the meal.”

  “Good grief, we just got here. And lingering is the whole point. That and hearing embarrassing stories about you when you were a kid.”

  “Fat chance. I’ve warned everyone to keep their stories to themselves.” He put the truck in Park and jumped out to open the big gate. She thought about getting behind the wheel to save him a step, but she wanted to be able to look around.

  The long driveway led to a large house at the top of the rise. It was really attractive, a mix of ranch-style and Alpine, with a peaked roof atop the biggest section. And the best part—the whole exterior was decorated to the gills.

  Lila took in the lights, the wreath on the door, the garlands around the porch railing and the two big rocking chairs. One thing she didn’t have at home was the light dusting of real snow instead of movie-magic Snowcel, which made the whole place look like a gingerbread house. It was magical.

  Clint parked the truck next to three others. As she slipped on her jacket, she noticed a barn, a couple of corrals, another big building that was probably a bunkhouse, given the smoke coming out of the chimney. The lowing of cattle chased the wind from the valley floor.

  Clint carried her bag of goodies as they took the stone walkway to the front door. He touched her lower back, and she glanced at him. “Who were you waving at?” She turned to see, but caught only a glimpse of two cowboys standing outside the barn before Clint blocked her view.

  “I wasn’t waving,” he said in a wry voice. “It’s just some of the guys from the bunkhouse. Keep going.”

  Now, she really wanted to see who he’d flipped off, but the front door swung open before the
y even reached it.

  There was Mr. Landers, it had to be, because he looked like the mold his son was cast from. His salt-and-pepper hair gave her a hint as to what Clint would look like as he got older. Of course he’d be just as striking.

  “Welcome, Ms. Loveridge, to our humble home.”

  “It’s Lila, and I’m so happy to be here.”

  “I’m Doug, Clint’s dad, but I reckon you knew that.”

  Lila grinned. “Well, he does have your good looks.”

  The older man flushed and laughed.

  “There you are,” Mrs. Landers said, wiping her hands on a white towel attached to a Santa apron. “Nathan and Beth are already here, and Seth should arrive soon. So come on in, and let’s get you two defrosted.”

  Her jacket was whisked away. The scent of roast beef and fresh rolls made her mouth water. The interior of the house—much more expansive than she’d expected with its high roof and fireplace in the living room—was filled with older, overstuffed chairs, pictures of horses and boys at all stages, trophies and ribbons, studio shots on the walls, and a leather couch that looked as if it had seen a couple of generations grow up.

  Another Landers man joined them. He had to be Nathan and the beautiful tall blonde who followed, his wife, Beth. Introductions took less than a minute, they chatted for a few more, then Doug, Nathan and Beth excused themselves because Mrs. Landers had assigned them all duties.

  Clint seemed pleased that he’d gotten off scot-free so he could show her around. Lila would bet anything he’d be stuck with cleanup. She decided not to burst his bubble as he ushered her into a family room with another fireplace, and a ridiculously perfect Christmas tree standing near a large window. The view was so quintessential it looked like a painted backdrop.

  “It’s wonderful,” she said, taking Clint’s hand. Some of the cute Christmas ornaments looked handmade. “Better than I even imagined.”

  “The house was originally built by my great-grandfather,” he said, “then extended by my grandad and Dad. It’s a real ranch home with enough room to house half a dozen hands, and enough supplies to last a Montana winter.”